


ain't it a beautiful world?

by blinker



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Break Up, Pretty much all are established relationship, UPDATING BECAUSE MICKEY IS COMING BACK AND I AM SCARED, but at different stages/seasons, they get to be goofy kids sometimes dammit, this is mostly just Ian and Mickey doing weird shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blinker/pseuds/blinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I hadn’t just puked,” Ian said, “I’d kiss you.”</p><p>Collection of short drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the things that really count

**Author's Note:**

> ian and mickey lying around and talking after sex. sometimes, showing you care is kind of gross. sometime during season 3, mentions of canon lip/mandy.

Mickey moved over to make room for Ian on the bed, breathless and already reaching around for the pack of smokes in his crumpled up jeans. “Nice going, tiger,” he said, pulling a wrinkled cigarette from the box and sticking it between his teeth. “Shit, we gotta do that more often.”

“I thought we already did,” Ian said. He rolled his shoulders back against the pillow, trying to get comfortable. Mickey’s room wasn’t the most luxurious place to fuck, or cleanest, actually, but at least it didn’t charge by the hour. And it was cozier than going at it behind the freezer in the store— although, he reflected, there was something to be said for the absence of Mickey’s sticky fucking bedsheets _._ “How often you wash these, man?” Ian frowned, gingerly running his fingers over them.

“How the fuck do I know?” Mickey replied, cigarette in mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Ian and flicked the lighter. “It’s your own fuckin’ jizz on ‘em, anyway. Now are you gonna start bitching about the way I keep house or what?”

“Nah,” Ian said, reaching for the cigarette. Mickey shot him a look, took a deliberately long drag, exhaled slowly, and finally handed it over. Ian grinned and stuck the cigarette between his lips. “Dick.”

He exhaled the smoke through his mouth, closing his eyes in satisfaction. “You doing anything today?” he asked, glancing over.

“Besides you?” Mickey said.

“Wasn’t I technically the one who did you?”

Mickey smirked. “So, what about you, then?” he asked after a moment. “Got a date with the doctor?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Ian shrugged. “Might have something to do with you kicking his fuckin’ balls in.”

“Yeah, well then, good thing he doesn’t need his balls to do surgery.”

“You could’ve been arrested,” Ian pointed out.

“Wouldn’t be the craziest thing that’s ever happened.”

Ian nudged Mickey with his elbow. “Come on.”

Mickey scratched at his chin. “I been wondering: that your type or somethin’, Gallagher? You like old guys? ‘Cause you keep fucking ‘em.”

“Kash wasn’t that old.”

“C’mon, I bet his dick had laugh lines.”

“What, you jealous?”

“Fuck no. Just wondering if I should be worried. I mean, I must look like a fuckin’ geezer if you’re sticking it in me.”

“Right.”

It was silent for a few minutes as they lay watching the smoke curl slowly up toward the ceiling. Ian’s eyelids were starting to droop. The bed was warm and they were close enough that their shoulders touched; it felt nice. He let his eyes close for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw that Mickey was already looking at him.

Mickey’s eyes flicked back to the ceiling. “You fall asleep, you’re gonna burn my fuckin’ house down.”

“Oh, shit,” Ian exclaimed, remembering the cigarette between his fingers. By now it had nearly burned out. Mickey snorted as Ian sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Long night or something, Gallagher?”

Ian grimaced, reaching out to crush the butt on the ashtray by Mickey’s bed. “Sort of. Lip and Mandy were going at it pretty hard.” There’d been a lot of screaming, which he was used to, and furniture breaking, which he was also used to. It’d be nice if they didn’t fuck in Ian’s room so often, though.

“Shit,” Mickey said, “if this is your way of getting back at her, we should at least be banging in her bed.”

Ian shrugged. “Banging her brother’s a good start, though.”

Mickey was quiet for a moment. “C’mere,” he said finally, reaching out and putting an arm around Ian’s shoulders. He pulled him in closer, so that Ian’s head was laying on his chest. He was a little sweaty and his arm was warm against Ian's back. “I’m still gonna jack off in her room later,” he said softly, running his fingers over Ian’s hair.

Ian sighed, relaxing into Mickey’s chest. He had to go to work soon, but he could stay for a few more minutes. “Thanks.”


	2. the bonnie and clyde of north side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a self-serve frozen yogurt heist and some regrets. post break-up and reconciliation AU.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Ian said, tapping his fingers on the counter. The guy in front of him said something. “What--oh.” He was writing his number down on a scrap of paper. “Alright, thanks,” Ian said, grabbing the number and sticking it in his pocket. He glanced behind him. Shit, Mickey was still in the store. “Oh, and uh,” he said, turning back to the cashier. “You got any gum?”

Christ, Ian thought, watching him hastily fumble in the pockets of his jeans, this guy was desperate as fuck. Another discreet look around the store revealed no Mickey in sight. “Actually, forget it,” Ian said. He gave the confused cashier a quick wave and made for the door.

Mickey was standing on the corner at the end of the strip mall. “What took you so long?” Ian asked, walking over and hitting him on the shoulder. “That guy was five seconds from jumping me.”

“Relax, tough guy.” Mickey held up two large red paper bowls triumphantly. “Not bad, right?”

Skeptical, Ian took one of the bowls from Mickey. It must have weighed more than a pound. “Fuck, how much did you get?”

They started walking. “Hey, we’re gonna steal shit, we’re gonna do it right. I didn’t know what flavor to get you, so, I just got all of ‘em. They got, like, fuckin’ forty-seven.”

Ian looked down at the mess of frozen yogurt in his bowl. It was covered in sprinkles and gummy bears and all kind of weird shit. “Is that Captain Crunch?”

“Hey, we didn’t come all the way to that fag palace to skimp on the toppings.” Mickey felt around in the pockets of his hoodie. “Oh, shit, I didn't get the spoons.”

Ian stared at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Nah, man,” Mickey replied. Ian looked at him a moment longer before he broke out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. Mickey grinned and dipped two fingers into his yogurt. “Bottoms up, huh?” He stuck his fingers in his mouth, raising his eyebrows at Ian as he sucked off the yogurt. Ian snorted.

They walked to a stone ledge overlooking a manicured concrete ravine. It was still light enough out to see; the streetlamps were all working, a hallmark of the yuppie neighborhood.  They sat on the ledge, legs dangling over.

The paper bowl was making Ian’s hand cold so he set it down on the ground next to him. Mickey scooped up some more of the yogurt, shooting Ian a pointed look. “C’mon, carrot-top, give it a try,” he said. “It’s actually not that bad. Kinda get why so many fuckin’ fairies like it.”

Ian looked at it dubiously. “It looks nasty.” It was starting to melt, and the colors were running together-- it wasn’t exactly appetizing. He dipped a finger in and hesitantly licked it. Mickey laughed when he made a face. “Maybe it’d taste better if you didn’t get fifty fucking flavors,” Ian said, picking out a gummy bear and popping it in his mouth.

“Fuck you, people saw me in there! You said you wanted to try it, you gotta at least _try_ it.”

“I am trying it.”

“With an open mind, asswipe.”

“Okay, alright,” Ian said. He tried it again. It was sweet and kind of sickening. “Jesus, haven’t they ever heard of ice cream?”

“Should’ve expected this from you, Gallagher.” Mickey shook his head. “That’s typical South Side, man.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, and what are you again?”

“Hey, the fuckin’ yogurt has opened my eyes. You’re just slowing me down, man, I gotta go climb the corporate ladder or some shit.”

Ian laughed. “Douche.” Mickey grinned.

“Hey, look at this,” Ian said after a moment. He pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket and showed it to Mickey.

“What’s that?”

“Cashier’s number.”

“That candy-ass faggot gave you his number?” Mickey licked the yogurt off his thumb. “Damn, Gallagher, you still got it.”

Ian crumpled the paper up and tossed it down the hill. Mickey gave him a look. “What, not gonna call him?”

“Nah,” Ian said. He reached over and took a red gummy bear from Mickey’s bowl. “I’ll stick with the faggot I’ve got.”

“Yeah? That’s an honor. You’ve fucked half the mo’s in Chicago.”

“I guess,” Ian said. It was quiet for a minute. “Mickey,” he started.

Mickey took Ian’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. His fingers were sticky. “Hey, we’re good.”

Ian smiled slightly. He shifted their hands to lace his fingers with Mickey's. They looked out over the ravine for awhile, having both forsaken the frozen yogurt in favor of picking out the toppings. Mickey handed Ian another red gummy bear.

“You know,” Mickey said, holding up the paper bowl with its big flowery logo. “This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done for you.”

“You’ve sucked my dick.”

“Your dick isn’t this gay.”

“Here,” Ian said. He picked up his bowl of yogurt and stood up, looking around for something nice and residential. Ian drew back his arm and chucked it as far as he could; it hit a mailbox in a spectacular splatter of colorful slush. Mickey whooped and immediately followed suit. His bowl exploded in the middle of the road. “Fuck you, North Side,” he yelled. 

Nobody was around but they both took off running. Someday they would talk about it, but it didn't have to be today.

 


	3. hello, nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ian comes down with the flu. debbie wonders why mickey's spending so much time at their house. somewhere around season 3.

“Where’s Gallagher?”

Debbie blinked. She didn’t think Mickey had been there a second ago. “Be more specific.”

“Ian, where’s Ian,” he amended, sounding annoyed. He looked a little out of place, she thought, standing by the back door with his scarf and jacket still on. He was glancing around as if he thought Ian might be hiding somewhere in the kitchen, like in the fridge or under the counters.

Debbie shrugged and picked up the butter knife again. “He’s in his room,” she said, cutting the crusts off a peanut butter sandwich. “I wouldn’t go in, though.”

“Why not?”

“I had the flu last week. He must have caught it because he’s been puking all day.” She handed the sandwich to Carl, who was sitting across the counter from her. He promptly shoved one of the triangle slices into his mouth. Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, I’m not sick anymore,” Debbie reassured him. “I’ve got a strong immune system.”

“Right,” Mickey said, not sticking around to chat. “You aren’t going to beat him up, are you?” Debbie called after him. “He’s sick, remember!”

 

The hall was dark and musty and yeah, Mickey thought, it definitely smelled like puke. “Yo, Gallagher,” he said, pushing the door to Ian’s room open slightly. At least, he thought it was Ian’s room. He’d just followed the puke smell.

There was a person-shaped lump on the bed, blankets pulled up over its head. The lump moved, raising its arms to push back the covers; it was Gallagher, after all. Mickey shifted his weight as Ian scrunched up his eyes, grimacing like a fucking vampire that had never seen the sun before. He didn’t look so hot, Mickey thought. There were pit stains on his shirt and his hair was sticking up. He kind of looked like a sheep that had just been born.

"Mickey?” Ian said, his voice thick.

Mickey stood in the doorway, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You weren’t at work yesterday.”

Ian sniffed wetly and slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. “Linda said I could make up the hours next week. She got a replacement, right?”

“Yeah, some redneck with a rat tail. Wanted to smash his head in after ten fuckin’ minutes.”

Ian squinted up at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mickey said. He hesitated before finally taking a few steps into the room. The floorboards were squeaky. He turned away from Ian to inspect something on the wall. “Smells like puke.”

“That makes sense,” Ian said.

Mickey turned back to him. Man, his sister hadn’t been kidding; he looked like shit. His nose was all red and his eyes were crusty--he’d probably been in bed all morning. It kind of hurt to look at him.

He frowned. “You take anything? Any pills?”

Ian nodded, lowering himself back down onto the bed. “Some pink ones in a box.”

“That’s the generic brand shit.” Mickey shook his head. There was silence for a moment.

“Did you need something, Mickey?” Ian said. His voice was hoarse.

Mickey shrugged. He’d been planning on complaining about how he’d had to jerk himself off last night, but seeing Ian’s fucked up face made him feel like an asshole about it. He walked over and plunked himself down on the edge of Ian’s bed. “You going to school on Monday?”

Ian closed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so. You don’t get sick days in the army.”

“That’s bullshit, man,” Mickey snorted. “They wouldn’t want your ass on the fuckin’ front line, you’d get everyone fuckin’ ganked. Like, you’re pulling an ambush or some shit, sitting around all quiet, then--” He made fake heaving noises, pretending to vomit. At the same time, Ian quickly sat up and leaned over the side of the bed and _actually_ vomited all over the floor.

“Oh, shit,” Mickey yelled.

 

Debbie looked up from her algebra homework, prepared to yell at Carl for making too much noise. Instead of Carl, though, she found Mickey Milkovich rooting through their kitchen cabinets. She pursed her lips and tapped her pencil on the countertop, waiting for him to stop.

Mickey glanced back and noticed her staring. “What?”

“You’re making a mess,” she pointed out.

“I’ll put it back,” he said, checking the label on a can of sliced pineapples from 2005. “You got any Campbell’s?”

“Probably,” Debbie replied. “Why?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to give sick people, right?” Mickey found what he was looking for and turned his attention to finding a can opener.

“Here.” Debbie slid off the chair and went to get the can opener from the drawer. She handed it to him. “Your sister isn’t here right now, in case you were wondering.”

“Wasn’t,” Mickey said. He grabbed a spoon and started to head back.

“Hey,” Debbie called. “You said you’d put everything back.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Your brother could be dying, kid. Family first, right?” He paused. “‘Sides, I already cleaned up his puke.”

Debbie frowned. She sort of wished her brothers would find nicer friends.

 

“I shit you not, man, he had it tattooed on his arm,” Mickey insisted.

“Bullshit,” Ian said.

“Yeah, I wish, Mickey retorted. "I had to look at it the whole fuckin’ shift. If I have to spend another night smelling the horse shit on that inbred fucknut's boots, I'm gonna lose it.”

Ian chuckled. He was looking a little better, Mickey thought; he’d thrown up the couple of spoonfuls of soup he’d actually eaten, but he’d changed into a clean sweatshirt and was wrapped in one of the ratty blankets from the hall closet. If nothing else, Mickey had gotten him to wash the crud off his face.

Ian met his evaluating gaze and gave him a funny, half-lidded look. “If I hadn’t just puked,” Ian said, “I’d kiss you.”

Mickey knew that Ian's eyes were just bright from the fever. Of course he did. Still, in spite of himself, Mickey couldn't help but notice that he looked like a strung out, snot-nosed angel. 

He shook his head. “You are fuckin’ delirious, man.”

A few more minutes went by before Mickey got to his feet with a sigh. “I gotta get going," he said, looping his scarf over his neck. "Let me know if you skip school on Monday, I’ll bring over a DVD and shit.”

"Okay," Ian said. He settled in, closing his eyes and sniffing. Mickey lingered for a moment in the doorway. Something pulled in his chest and he didn’t want to know why. 

He wondered whether kissing Ian would really taste like puke.

 

Debbie caught sight of Mickey on his way out. “How’s he feeling?” she asked.

“How the fuck should I know,” he answered, already on his way out the door.


	4. sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleeping in the same bed for the first time.

“Hey,” Ian whispered. He nudged Mickey with his elbow. “Wake up.”

Mickey’s face screwed up, and he shifted slightly in his sleep. Ian nudged him again, less gently. “Mickey.”

 _“What,”_ Mickey said, grimacing. He turned his face against Ian’s chest, as if trying to block out the noise. Ian tried not to smile. It was endearing, in a weird and kind of annoying way.

“You awake?”

Mickey grunted. “What do you fucking think.”

“I can’t breathe,” Ian said.

“What—” The realization that he’d wrapped his arms around Ian in his sleep seemed to dawn on Mickey all at once, and he was suddenly wide awake. “Ah, fuck,” he said quickly, pulling away. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. He rolled over on his shoulder to face Mickey, who had turned on his back. By now Ian had been awake for awhile, and he had adjusted to the dark. He saw that Mickey’s eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Ian said.

Mickey didn’t say anything. Ian sighed. When he put his hand on Mickey’s chest, Mickey looked at it as if a spider had started crawling on him. “You’re warm,” Ian said, closing his eyes. “Okay?”

Mickey’s lips parted, but whatever he was going to say he seemed to decide against it. “Yeah, whatever, man,” he settled on eventually. He let out a breath, watching the shadows from the street flicker across the ceiling.

  
  
When Ian woke up in the morning, Mickey’s arms were around him again. He smiled. It would take some getting used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. please feel free to send in drabble prompts because I'm an emotional wreck over this show and need to write my feelings out. ;) my tumblr is http://ventiswill.tumblr.com!


	5. sleep cont.

He never got enough sleep with Ian around.

There were nights when he didn’t want to sleep, nights he spent gasping as Ian pounded him, hard, into the mattress. Sometimes there were nights when he’d lie awake afterwards and Ian would look at him and Mickey would think that he didn’t want anything, not even sleep to get in the way. Sometimes it woke him up, the feeling of Ian’s fingers tracing patterns on his back, but he liked those nights. He’d shut his eyes and smile to himself, silent. Sometimes it was him who was kept awake, and he’d look at Ian sleeping next to him for a while. Seeing how fucking _peaceful_ Ian looked felt like something fleeting and important and he didn’t want it to end too fast.

Ian woke him up a lot. Sometimes he’d say weird shit in his sleep; nothing scary, just weird, like repeating a name or muttering about crap like Fight Club or his birthday. Once, Mickey was pretty sure he'd heard Ian humming the Ghostbusters song, and for a week after Mickey kept asking him who he was going to call. Sometimes Ian would wake him up on purpose, when it was edging from “technically tomorrow” to “almost morning.” Sometimes they’d fuck and sometimes they’d joke about random shit, like that time Mickey had thought a pregnant woman was trying to smuggle a watermelon out of the Kash n’ Grab and he’d nearly lost his job. Ian had had to plead to Linda on his behalf, like a peasant begging on his knees to the king. Mickey would press a hand over Ian’s mouth to keep him from laughing out loud and they’d lay there in bed, shaking with their faces screwed up in silent laughter.

Sometimes Ian would nudge Mickey awake with his elbow and tell him that he couldn’t sleep, and Mickey would pull Ian closer and wrap an arm around him and tell him to close his eyes so he’d drift off. He’d run his fingers through Ian’s hair and sometimes he’d talk to him until he felt his eyes closing and couldn’t talk anymore. Mickey didn’t know if that ever helped, though.

There were also nights when he wanted to sleep. He felt like groaning when he was woken up too early, wanted to pull the covers over his head. Then there were nights when he was kept awake, Ian sleeping next to him. Mickey would lie there with his head against the pillow, staring into nothing, and he’d wonder what the fuck was wrong with him. He wondered about a lot of things. That was what he really hated. He wished he could sleep so that his brain would shut the _fuck_ up and he could shut the lid on all the rotten ugly shit that rattled around in his head when it was quiet and dark and there was nothing to crowd it out. He worried about what was happening right now and he worried about what was going to happen if things got worse. He worried because he didn't know what the fuck else to do and being alone with his thoughts made him feel like a bug at the end of a pin, helpless and stuck.

Worry could make you sick, he knew that for fucking certain.

He knew, too, that sleeping next to Ian was a lot warmer than sleeping alone. Fucking was sweaty and hot, but Mickey had learned that the warmth of another person in your bed seeped through the covers, bone-deep and hazy. Sometimes he’d find Ian in bed, and he’d lay down next to him and the bed would feel the way it only ever felt in the morning after you’d warmed it up, all nice and comfortable and shit. He wished he knew how to say thanks without sounding like a fucking idiot.

He wonders if Ian knew. He wonders, if he had told him, what difference it would have made.

He hasn’t seen Ian in more than a month, and he still can’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comments always super appreciated! ;)


	6. player1 wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey! welllll i found out mickey’s coming back and all of my shameless feels suddenly came back and here we are :’)
> 
> wideblueskies on tumblr requested something from season 1, i thought this would be a nice little moment to write

It'd been a tough call, which was more compelling: pizza, or staying in his room to avoid his annoying sister and her annoying friend. But in the end, pizza won out--or more specifically, the fact that he'd also heard them order hot wings over the phone. Mickey made his way to the kitchen, rolling his eyes at the sound of Mandy teasing Gallagher over some stupid study rhyme that would've made Elmo puke as she crumpled her used paper plate into the trash. "Uh-oh, Chicago State, here she comes," he muttered, ripping open the tin foil in the box of hot wings. Mandy looked at him sharply.

“Mickey,” she said, eyes darting back to where Gallagher sat on the couch. “Don’t you have somewhere else you could be?”

He raised his eyebrows and licked the buffalo sauce off his thumb. “What, am I interrupting something?”

Mandy huffed out a breath through her nose. “Look, you can have the rest of the wings if you leave us alone.”

Well, that suited him fine. All he’d come for was the wings, anyway. He grabbed the orange bottle of Crush and started for his room. Then again, he thought, hesitating on his way out, it was kind of fucking annoying the way Mandy was acting, and the way she acted whenever Gallagher was at the house: like they were part of some club and Mickey was some loser fuck who wouldn’t leave them alone. Not like they lived in the same house or anything. He turned back to Mandy and jerked his chin over to where Gallagher sat. “If he’s gonna finger flick you,” he said, raising his voice so the redhead would hear, “just don’t let him do it on the fucking couch.”

Mandy’s lips pinched together. She made a grab for the box of wings, but Mickey held it at bay, fencing her off like a football player. Like fuck he was giving them up now. Mandy growled in frustration. “Come on, asshole,” she hissed, “you’re going to screw it up!”

Mickey blinked. “Screw what up?”

“Everything! Look, Ian actually wants to hang out with me, not my dick _brother_. You’re just gonna scare him off, then what am I supposed to do?”

Scare Ian off? What was he, a fucking butterfly? “How the fuck am I gonna do that?”

“By being a prick!” Mandy glanced over at the couch and lowered her voice. “Ian’s nice, okay? If you keep shoving your dumb ass in and bothering him every time he’s over here, soon he’s not gonna want to come over at all.”

Mickey frowned. A muffled buzz sounded from Mandy’s skirt and she wiggled the phone out from where she’d stuck it in the waistband. “Shit,” Mandy said, staring down at the screen. “I have to run to the drugstore.” She stuck her phone back in her skirt and opened one of the kitchen drawers with a clatter. As she grabbed a wad of papers, she glanced up at where Gallagher sat on the couch. “Ian, you coming with?”

He smiled at her, arm hanging down the back of the couch. “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll finish copying down these answers.”

Her lips pursed together. She shot Mickey a glare, the black makeup around her eyes making her look like an angry raccoon. “Fine,” she said, fake chipper, closing the drawer with her hip. “I’ll be back in a few.” As she passed Mickey, she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “If you fuck this up for me, you’re fucking dead.” The drywall shook as she slammed the door behind her.

It was silent for a moment in her wake. He could feel Gallagher looking, which made him feel more annoyed than anything. Mickey wished he would quit staring at him and go back to copying answers. He knew there’d be time to get his rocks off before Mandy got back from the drugstore, but he didn’t feel like fucking right now. Mandy pissed him off, the way she acted: like Mickey was out to ruin her goddamn life when in reality, he couldn’t give less of a fuck who she hung around with. His fingers drummed over the cardboard box, leaving faint orange prints behind. He thought about going into his room, locking the door, and getting to eat hot wings in peace.

Instead, he walked into the living room, set the bottle of Crush down on the counter, and walked over to the TV to plug in the Playstation.

He grabbed two controllers, turning the system on and handing one of them over to Gallagher. He hesitated a second; then he took it, and Mickey sank down on the couch next to him. It was quiet as the game booted up. To his irritation, Mickey could see out of the corner of his eyes that Ian's eyes were still boring holes into the side of his head. He ignored it and pressed deliberately into the game screen, and after a moment of waiting expectantly, he heard the buttons on Ian's controller click as he did the same.

The joysticks wobbled through weapon selection, Mickey choosing first and Ian a moment later, before the TV faded to black and conjured up a split screen battlefield. Mickey’s soldier ran and jumped from the window, landing on the cement below in a roll.

They played in silence for a few minutes. Mickey spared a glance over to Gallagher's side of the screen. “Man, you suck,” he said. He held up his controller so Gallagher could see it, fingers flicking over the buttons in a combo. Bullets spat from his soldier’s gun, nailing a masked CPU through the head. He glanced over at Gallagher’s hands as he tried the combo. He was too slow, and his fingers fumbled at the back of the controller. On the screen, his soldier jumped and rolled into a wall.

“Fuck,” Gallagher said. Mickey snorted and turned his attention back to his half of the screen.

Another few minutes went by. “Why do you hang around my sister,” Mickey said. “She’s fucking annoying.”

Gallagher took a moment to reply. “Why, she do something?”

Mickey sucked his teeth as he smashed down on the “A” button. “Always bugging me where I leave my shit.”

He saw Ian shrug, out of the corner of his eyes. “I think she’s pretty cool.”

Mickey’s soldier rounded the corner of the building and came face to face with Gallagher’s. He raised his assault rifle and ploughed Gallagher’s soldier into the ground. The game faded to black, and the words "GAME OVER, P1 WINS" tattooed themselves over the menu screen. Mickey scoffed, standing up and tossing the controller back onto the couch. “Later,” he said, without looking back at Ian, grabbing the box of wings from the counter on the way back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, comments and feedback always really appreciated. (feel free to send prompts to kevilnt.tumblr.com if you'd like.)


	7. here to help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to try writing some IM/text format stuff since i always love reading those. it was REALLY fun to write  
> takes place season 5ish i guess

[3:35 am]

 **Mickey** : i had this weird fucking dream that you were like afucking squirrel

 

 **Ian** : What

 

 **Mickey** : shit why are you awake man

 **Mickey** : go to sleep

 

 **Ian** : Can't sleep. I’d rather talk to you than keep staring at the ceiling

 

 **Mickey** : ok ok

 **Mickey** : fuckin scared me man i didn't think you'd be up

 **Mickey** : well at least lay in bed or something maybe you'll pass out

 

 **Ian** : Sure Mick, if it means you won't worry about me

 **Ian** : ;)

 

 **Mickey** : fuck off my lifes like 40 years shorter because of you

 

 **Ian** : You were planning on living to 40? That's new

 

 **Mickey** : ha ha

 **Mickey** : don't get too excited

 **Mickey** : i know you think old guys are sexy

 

 **Ian** : You going back to bed?

 

 **Mickey** : no ill keep ur ass company

 

 **Ian** : Awwwwwww. Thats cute

 

 **Mickey** : shut up

 **Mickey** : you want me to come over tomorrow? we can do shit

 

 **Ian** : Yeah, let’s go somewhere

 **Ian** : I need to get out of this fucking house for a while

 

 **Mickey** : k we can sneak into a movie or something

 **Mickey** : i think theres some slasher flick we cn see

 

 **Ian** : Sounds good

 

 **Mickey** : fuck yeah man your gonna get so scared you’’ll piss tears

 **Mickey** : hell you thought the excercist was scary

 **Mickey** : excorcist

 

 **Ian** : I said it was scary for being made in the 70s, I didn't say it scared me

 

 **Mickey** : uhhhh huh

 **Mickey** : sure

 

 **Ian** : Wow

 **Ian** : Are you one of those movie assholes now?

 

 **Mickey** : im just sayin

 **Mickey** : everyone in horror movies is a dumb fuck

 

 **Ian** : Yeah you say that but you really think you’d survive in a horror movie?

 **Ian** : Being realistic here

 **Ian** : You’d probably be that guy who dies first because he doesn’t believe

 

 **Mickey** : do you even hear yourself

 **Mickey** : you sound like a fuckin maniac

 

 **Ian** : Whatever man

 

 **Mickey** : BEEELIEEEEVVVVEEEE

 

 **Ian** : Hard to keep laughing when you’re dead

 

 **Mickey** : so if i’m the asshole that dies first what are you? the fuckin mcgyver?

 

 **Ian** : I’m the smart one

 **Ian** : I’m like Kurt Russell in The Thing

 

 **Mickey** : you wish you were kurt russel

 **Mickey** : anyway if i’m dead so are you

 **Mickey** : you’d be too sad to go on without me

 

 **Ian** : I think I’d be fine

 

 **Mickey** : ....damn thats cold

 

 **Ian** : Naw I’d definitely curl up and die for you Mick

 

 **Mickey** : yeah yeah

 **Mickey** : keep joking i’ll come crawl out of the ground and zombie gank your ass

 

 **Ian** : Okay fair enough

 **Ian** : Either that’s a cat screaming outside or someone is getting murdered

 

 **Mickey** : shit

 **Mickey** : you got earplugs

 

 **Ian** : Yeah

 **Ian** : I'm gonna check just in case

 

 **Mickey** : is ur sense of civic duty kicking in or something

 **Mickey** : local hero ian gallagher

 

 **Ian** : Thank you thank you

 **Ian** : Actually though I just wanted to tell them to shut up

 **Ian** : I think it was just a cat

 

 **Mickey** : damn

 **Mickey** : local zero ian galagher

 

 **Ian** : :(

 

 **Mickey** : nah its ok

 **Mickey** : dont be sadface

 

 **Ian** : :P

 

 **Mickey** : whats that? thinking face

 

 **Ian** : :T

 

 **Mickey** : annoyed?

 

 **Ian** : :K

 

 **Mickey** : now your making shit up

 

 **Ian** : ;)

 **Ian** : Earplugs are finally in

 

 **Mickey** : good

 

 **Ian** : if anyone’s getting murdered from now on, they’re on their own

 

 **Mickey** : thats the spirit

 

 **Ian** : Are you gonna tell me a bedtime story or what

 

 **Mickey** : ok

 **Mickey** : one time there was a guy named ian

 **Mickey** : he didnt sleep so he died

 

 **Ian** : I want a better story

 

 **Mickey** : fuck you

 **Mickey** : one time there was a talking pillow

 **Mickey** : he got sick of nobody sleeping on him so he went nuts and killed everyone in the house

 

 **Ian** : What did he say?

 

 **Mickey** : what

 

 **Ian** : You said he’s a talking pillow so what did he say when he killed them

 

 **Mickey** : he said fuck all you i’m moving out

 

 **Ian** : That sounds like what a pillow would say

 

 **Mickey** : damn right bitch

[3:57 am]

 

 **Mickey** : yo you counting sheep or something?

[4:05 am]

 

 **Mickey** : you fall asleep?

 **Mickey** : good

 **Mickey** : get some sleep

 **Mickey** : fuckin insomniac

 **Mickey** : talk to you later

[4:12 am]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case season 7 turns out depressing heres some fluff :')


End file.
